Stars, Stripes, and Sniper Rifles
by DesertNinjaMHWK
Summary: On the eve of the birth of his first child, Steve Rogers thinks back to how he met his wife and the adventures that eventually led up to their marriage. Captain America/OC pairing. Story starts before the Avengers movie and continues through and after it.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"I'm sorry, you're going to have to wait out here." The words. The dreaded words he had feared he might hear. Steve Rogers stood watching the double doors swing closed, watching the gurney race down the hall carrying his heavily pregnant wife, taking her to a place he couldn't go.

A nurse showed him to a waiting room, told him she would keep him updated as soon as she knew anything. He didn't want to wait, he wanted to be there, holding her hand like he had been before everything suddenly took a turn for the worst.

Pacing in the lobby, he found he couldn't stand still. They had called Phil, Clint, Tony, and Bruce the moment she had gone into labor, but they weren't there yet. Trying to sit down, trying to breathe, he stood back up and paced the room again.

It had been almost two years since they had been married. They had gone through hell, through danger unknown, and he loved her more than he could love anyone else, ever. It was so strange to think that the one thing that neither of them expected to happen, was. A baby, a child. They had created life and it was killing her. The indestructible Sera Rhett Aubrey, S.H.I.E.L.D's very own Deadeye Sniper was in trouble, and he blamed himself.

Pacing, he came to a stop, staring out the window as the world outside became dark and cold. He stared at his reflection, didn't see much of a change from that first day that seemed so far away. That first day he remembered after... after the last day of his old life.

He remembered the room, the strange room that was a trick, that was meant to keep him calm but he knew was wrong. The radio was all wrong. In that instance he knew it a lie and made his escape, his escape into the future, a much changed world.

Nick Fury was there, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, coaxing him away from the armed men that surrounded him and into an awaiting vehicle. He asked him then if he wanted to return to the staged room. Steve refused. Fury showed him to a safe facility, where he could take in his new surroundings without being overwhelmed. That was where he met her. He sat down upon his bed in his clean room and she came to the door. Her hair was darker then, a dark red-brown color. She peeked her head in through the doorway. "Captain?" she asked.

He looked up, caught in the strangeness of his situation, the nostalgia that ate away at him.

"Sera Rhett Aubrey," she introduced herself and he stood, remembering his manners, to shake her hand, a firm, calloused grip.

"Captain Steve Rogers, Ma'am," he replied.

"You can call me Sera, Captain," she assured him. "Fury told me to introduce myself. I'm supposed to be helping you get used to this crazy new world. So if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. I'm staying right across the hall til you're ready to move out of this box."

From down the hall, he heard, "Sera!" and she rounded quickly saying, "Si—" her word breaking off when she saw whom addressed her. She frowned. "I thought you were someone else," she grumbled. That was the first time he met Hawkeye. Sera introduced them. "Cap, this is Clint Barton," she said when he was closer.

The two shook hands and Hawkeye added, "The fiancé."

"Really?" Sera said to him, "You really think mentioning that is necessary."

"You seem to forget," Clint smiled and then looked to the man from the past that stood before him. "It's nice meeting you, Captain," he said and shook his hand. "We're doing dinner at six in the mess. Up for it?"

Taking a slow breath, Steve Rogers made to refuse, but Sera said, "Honest, the food isn't that good but I could use better conversation than what's-his-face," and motioned to the man at her side. The slightest smile surfacing, even though he didn't have any feeling of happiness, he agreed to join them for dinner.

The hall was full of S.H.I.E.L.D agents, all wearing the same black outfit. Sera, however, was dressed in plain clothes. When he spoke his observation, she replied, "I'm supposed to follow you around. If you decide you wanna take a tour around town, I can't stop to change. If you wanna go, we go."

Steve watched her, eyes narrowed. "Just like that?"

Sera shrugged, "I'm not on fieldwork," she replied.

"Why you?"

The slightest frown slid across her lips and was gone in an instant, returning to a smile. He noticed rather quickly that the smile she gave to him wasn't one she usually had. "Would you prefer a different tour guide, Cap?" she asked, taking a bite of the much too-plain tuna sandwich on her plate.

Shaking his head, he replied, "I think I'd just rather stay in today."

"Yeah," she told him, "There's a staircase down the hall from your room, take a right and another right and you can make your way up to the roof."

There was little conversation after that. He stared at his food and even the conversation between the two across from him had become quiet. It wasn't an angry silence, only the feeling as if there was nothing to say. Finally, excusing himself, he bussed his tray and left. Sera's directions stuck with him as he returned to his room, and instead of going inside, he followed her words, making his way to the stairs that led him to a door and the open roof.

A quick gust of wind shut the door behind him and he found himself staring out at the New York skyline. He wasn't too close, but the buildings all around were still tall and intimidating. He knew then why Sera had sent him up there. First, it was easy to see what his world had become. Second, because it drove home the fact that if he ever wanted to feel at home again, he was going to need help. The noise was deafening. Cars honking, planes in the air, doors closing, cell phones. His head was spinning. The air was thick, heavy around him. He couldn't breathe.

"Easy Cap," he heard and spun around. Sera stood by the open door. "You're gonna throw yourself into nostalgia-city. Last thing we need is a depressed Captain America."

He stared at her from ten feet away. He felt his anger rising, but it wasn't because of her, he knew that, and desperately tried to keep his feelings shuttered.

"Hey," she said suddenly, softly, "we've got a game room downstairs if you're up for table tennis or something."

He wasn't sure how, but she could see right through him, like she already knew him, had known him, for quite some time. Another gust of wind kicked her dark hair forward and she rushed to tie it back. The color was much too similar to the woman he had left in the past, the woman he had been set to dance with one day. "Is that your real hair color?" he asked.

She appeared taken aback. Brow raised, she cleared her throat and replied, "No. I... don't see how that's relevant, Sir."

"There was that other woman, when I woke up..."

"Oh!" she said quickly and shook her head, "No. No. This was left over from my last field-mission with Clint. Director Fury told me once that I'm too noticeable otherwise." She pulled at a strand of wavy locks. "This isn't even my real hair."

"It's a wig?" he asked.

"A weave," she replied. "I usually keep it til I get sick of looking at myself in the mirror." Shrugging, she added, "Change is good sometimes."

Leaving the roof, he followed her down to the game room, and when they started a slow game of ping pong, he asked, "You said field work. What exactly do you do?"

"I'm a murderous, conniving, undercover operative, more partial to sniping from a distance than doing the up-close spy stuff." The ball she tapped across the table bounced past him as he stared back at her. "You missed," she said plainly, watching him.

"You're a sniper?" he questioned.

"One of the best S.H.I.E.L.D has to offer," she told him and then pointed to the ball with the paddle. "Is it your shot or mine?"

"They put you out in the field?" he asked.

Dark brows furrowing, Sera replied, "Something wrong with that, Cap?" with the slightest smile surfacing.

"No," he shook his head, "I just didn't think a pretty dame like... woman... woman like you would be a soldier."

"A Marine," she replied.

"A Marine," he repeated, mouth slightly open.

"Recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D.," she added. "Two tours overseas and the last two, going on three years with S.H.I.E.L.D." Striding past him to pick up the fallen plastic ball, she added, "I assure you, Captain, I am no helpless dame."

He understood perfectly. Sera was there, not only to show him the new world, but to protect him from the evils. He was beginning to think her first statement, her words to describe herself, were not an exaggeration. Fury had given him the boogeyman to protect him from the new world taking advantage of him on his way to rehabilitation. But looking at her as she moved around the table to strike the ball with the paddle, he couldn't see her as an intimidating figure. She was wearing blue jeans and a pair of black flats. Her gray, long sleeve blouse sitting close to her skin with a loose, scooped neckline. She was slim and a head and a half shorter than him. By the looks of her, he wondered if she could even hold the recoil from a rifle. He began to wonder if she were bluffing. And then he remembered the callouses he felt when they first shook hands. She didn't have a soft touch.

"Earth to Cap," he heard and returned from his thoughts. "You gonna play? Or am I playing fetch with myself."

Shaking his head, he replied, "I guess this has never really been my game."

"Okay Star-Spangled Man. What _is _your game?"

He had barely started playing and felt again that he didn't care. The world was catching up with him again. He felt tired.

"Look," she said, setting down the paddle. "There's a little place I know of outside of here."

"I thought you were supposed to get me ready for going out into the world," he replied.

"Yeah, supposed to be a few months," she told him with a shrug, "but my guess is that if I leave you alone, you're going to go sit in your room and think. And if you're not going to talk with a psychiatrist about this whole deal, then you're probably like me and just need something else to think about."

"And we're just going to be able to walk right out of here?" Steve asked.

Sera smiled, a mischievous look that he took to instantly. He was ready to follow.

She gave him few directions, told him to be ready in an hour, to wait in his room. He waited, pulled his leather jacket tighter at his shoulders. A vent shaft in his room suddenly fell open and Sera slid through, flipping out and dropping herself gracefully to her feet. "You should be able to fit in there if you bring your shoulders in," she told him, rubbing her shoulder.

Watching her skeptically, he wanted to refuse, wanted to stay where he was supposed to. Then, she reached up and pulled herself into the air vent. "Come on, Cap," she said softly. "It's a jail break."

It was too late to back out, she was there, leading him out of a place that he probably could have just walked out of if he were determined to, but sneaking out was a good way to keep his mind occupied.

Ahead of him, Sera was quiet, moving through the vent with little noise. He couldn't see much, but could smell the dirt on the bottom of her flat shoes. Even though she was dressed nice, it didn't stop her from using her body as a duster and cleaning the vents while moving on her stomach.

He looked over her shoulder to see a fan ahead, but before she reached it, her body angled down and she disappeared down a sloping metal square. "Sera!" he whispered harshly.

A loud clang sounded from the bottom. He looked down into the darkness and heard a whistle. Asking himself why he was doing this, he followed, trying to keep from shouting as he slid down the vent and out into the light through a hinged vent. Caught by his arm and wrenched around to a ladder that stretched the length of the brick building, he found himself gripping the side bars of the ladder, pressed against a body as his feet tried to connect with the bars.

Sera still held to his arm as one of hers held them, wrapped around a rung and kept them steady. His cheek sat pressed against her outer thigh, and at the realization, his heart jumped into his throat, heat rushing into his face. "Alive down there, Cap?" she asked and he looked up to find her blue eyes full of focus.

He pulled away from her leg, cleared his throat. "Good catch," he replied shortly.

Releasing his arm, she replied, "Glad I caught you. Usually it's just me playing escape artist. Wasn't sure if I could support your weight."

Steve tried to keep the surprise out of his face, tried not to show any anger at her lack of forethought. Shaking his head, he settled for descending the ladder. It ended six feet above the ground and when he dropped down, he stepped back to give her room. As she reached the last three rungs, she extended her arms to get ready for the drop and that's when he saw it, a red splotch on the forearm of her knit gray blouse, the arm she had wrapped about the ladder.

Quickly he stepped forward, placing hands at her waist and supporting her weight as he lowered her to the ground. He felt every muscle tense in her body, ready to fight or flee. When she stood steady, he released her and she casually turned to face him, though he knew better than the pleasant, "Thanks," that she gave him.

"Your arm," he said. She looked down as if she hadn't even noticed.

"I'm bleeding," she replied, brow raised. He wondered if she really hadn't noticed.

Gently, he reached out, pulling up her sleeve up to expose the small cut in her flesh. It didn't look bad. A slice in her skin, roughed flesh around it, and then slowly came the blossoming of a bruise. "You should get this looked at," he told her.

"I'll clean it up when we get there," she told him and, with a sling of her hand, her sleeve dropped back into place. "Shouldn't cause a problem."

"But you're bleeding," he said, showing more concern.

A smile broke across her face and she fought to hide it. "It's not the worst injury in the world," she assured him, "It'll be fine for the twenty minute walk."

A twenty minute walk was an hour out of the way, but he was much too distracted by what the world had become, and by the way she took his arm in hers and they strode like lovers down through the Brooklyn streets. While he looked about, the obvious tourist, her gaze continued forward, a lovely smile upon her face as she stepped with a lovely bounce. The softness of her touch held any apprehension away. Her presence was comfort enough to ease his mind, even though he knew under the gentleness she gave him, there was the strength to support his weight.

At the end of their trip stood a beaten building with the word "gym" written on the front in big letters. Once upon a time there were lights inside the letters, but now the glass was broken, cracked. She released his arm, her hand sliding down to take his as she led him inside. A stairwell led up at their right, but to their left sat a pair of heavy glass doors. She pulled one open and he followed her.

From the threshold, she shouted, "Charlie!" her voice sharp and high pitched. Uncharacteristic of her usual no-nonsense self. He could only stare.

From around the corner, in a back, office came a man, short, dark of skin, hair receding into small gray hairs. "Woman!" he shouted back, cranky and old. "Don't you ever call first?"

"Call?" she replied with a question. "I just did. And you heard me."

"With your phone!" he complained.

"Oh..." She stared at him and a comical sense crossed her face as she asked, "What's a phone?"

"Girl!" he warned her.

At the tone in the man's voice, Steve's hand tightened on the woman's. She spoke quickly then. "Say, Charlie, you still got that place up top?"

"Not for you, troublemaker," the old man told her with a straight face.

"Good," Sera shot back, "I didn't want it anyway."

Old Charlie looked the man beside her up and down. "What's this?"

"Riff-raff," she replied with a shrug. "To the point." With these words, the whole atmosphere changed.

Charlie nodded. "I was supposed to have somebody coming to check it out this morning," he said with all civility, striding back through the doors they had just passed through and into the hall. "Still looks about the same as when you were last here," he added as they followed him to the stairs and up to another door.

Door opening, a small loft lay ahead. The walls were red brick, the bed bare, a queen-sized mattress. Dresser and desk were both pale, cheap wood, and an old television sat upon a table made of cinder blocks and plywood.

"You're right," Sera said, "Looks about the same. I made that entertainment center."

"Classy," Charlie muttered. He turned to Steve then, whom still held Sera's hand, and said, "Rent includes three keys. One to the front, one to the room, one to the gym. Utilities paid."

"It's the best you'll get," Sera told him. "And the better part is that you're now on payroll so it really doesn't cost you a dime."

"Where exactly do you work, Sera?" Charlie questioned.

"We're models, Charlie," she told him and the man laughed, guffawed. She grinned and told Steve, "Take a look around."

It was better, he had to admit, than the room he was stuck in with the other members of S.H.I.E.L.D. Closer to the city, able to get out when he wanted. He was a grown man, capable of caring for himself. And if he were unsure, there was always Sera to guide him. He had been reluctant to release her gun-calloused hand, but he did. It was simple, cozy, stress free. And downstairs sat what he wanted, what Sera had brought him for, the boxing ring, the punching bags.

"If it gets me out of that box," Steve said finally, "I'll take it."

"Good to hear," Charlie told him. "I'd rather have a friend of Sera's up here than some complete stranger." He turned and began to walk away saying, "I'll get your keys."

"That easy?" Steve asked.

"When you know the right people," she told him. "Now..." she looked around. "I guess you need a few things."

Shopping had never been one of his favorite past times, and now it was downright frightening. People packed stores, they were too big, too full. He followed Sera and was much too overwhelmed. Anxiety slid up into his chest, made his throat tight. Holding a pillow in her hands, Sera turned to him and whacked him across his arm. Everything fell away. Quickly his focus returned to her. "What color do you like?" she asked harmlessly, as if she hadn't just hit him in the middle of a store. A woman further down the aisle tried not to watch them, tried not to giggle.

"I guess... I'm partial to blue," he replied.

"Of course you are," she smiled.

When she smiled, when she pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear, when she was much too serious for helping him pick out linens, he wanted to stand close to her. At times, he found himself at her back, reaching above her to pick something from a top shelf to give it a closer look and he would have to remind himself she was engaged to be married to another man. Quickly, he would give her distance.

Overall, he didn't know what he was doing in the store. He left most of the choosing to her. Before they left the store, Sera admitted, "Honestly, I don't know a thing about decorating, so when you didn't know, I just got you what I have, but in a different color."

When they returned to his new apartment, she helped set up toiletries and put blankets on his bed. He tried to help, but she was in one place and quickly in another. He barely had time to put cold items into his refrigerator. With all the strange new foods and brands, he stuck with minimal raw items. They had even picked up a set of pans and cooking utensils. When he finished, he turned and found her laying upon the long seat fashioned into the window sill. She had set her head upon a cushion, her eyes closed.

A stirring deep in his stomach made him turn away. He hated that feeling, hated that he felt he was moving on too fast, hated that everything he knew was gone.

Sera suddenly awoke, sat up so quick that she nearly fell to the floor. "Sorry!" she said quickly. "I didn't mean to fall asleep!" Her apology was so sincere that it drew a smile to his face. There was a part of her she didn't show too often, but he had seen it a few times already, her consideration for others, her embarrassment, her easy sincerity.

Again, he suddenly saw the red spot on her sleeve, the spot of blood that had browned as it dried. "Your arm," he said softly.

She looked, shrugged, and said, "Forgot all about it."

"What about lockjaw?" he questioned seriously.

"Vaccinated," she replied.

"Descombey," he told her, "1924."

She stared at him and then rubbed her head, realizing that the discovery had been during his lifetime. Rising to her feet, a moment of discomfort passing, she said, "So tomorrow morning," changing the subject, "I'll bring what you have left in your room and then we'll look at getting you some new clothes."

He nodded, replied, "I won't go too far tonight. It's late." Then he quickly said, "I should walk you home."

"That's sweet," she said, "But really, I'm fine walking back."

"It was an hour getting here."

Stepping back, she pulled open one of the light, gauzy blue curtains at the window where she had been sleeping. "I live right down there. Third building after the light. You can see it from here," she told him.

Walking up beside her, he followed where she pointed to.

"That fifth floor corner window, that's mine," she informed him and she added, "Don't be chivalrous, Cap. I'd rather you be here where I know you're safe."

"And how do I know you're safe?" he questioned. He turned to look at her, much too close for a man to be to a woman betrothed to another.

However, she didn't flinch, only said, "I'll turn on the light when I get up there," as if it were the only answer she could give him. "If," she began again, "you don't like it, I'll just lock you in your room and you'll have to wait until I get up and come get you in the morning."

He smiled, starting to believe that little she said was actually a bluff.

"Or this," she suddenly suggested and pulled a little rectangle from her pocket. She poked it, prodded it, and then waited for it to ring.

"Is that a phone?" he asked, staring at the object.

Behind him, on the desk, the phone without a rotary dial began to ring. He jumped and turned to face it. "Pick it up," she told him. Reaching out, he took the handset, placed it to his ear. "Now," she replied, setting her tiny phone to her ear, "you can walk me home."

He stood, dumbfounded, watching her leave. She waved from the door, closing it behind her and he heard her voice at his ear. "Sera?" he asked.

"I can hear you fine," she replied. He could hear the smile in her voice. He wondered if she enjoyed this too much, his bewilderment. "There's a lot to see in the world, Cap," she informed him, "Technology's come a long way, from small portable phones to space travel. Don't rush yourself, though. You're a man out of time and it's a scary place."

He looked out the window, watched her step out onto the sidewalk, wave behind her with one hand, the other hand holding the phone securely to her ear. "You tell me it's a scary place," he replied, "and walk outside, at night, by yourself."

"I kill people for a living, Cap," she told him, chuckling, "there isn't a soul on these streets that could scare me. It's kind of you to care, I do appreciate it, but you really don't have to worry about me."

"It's difficult to do, Miss."

"I'm not trying to change you Cap," she told him, "the world needs more men like you so don't think that's what I'm saying. Remember, I'm here to protect you, not the other way around."

He watched her enter her building, could hear her feet tapping on the steps as she ascended to her apartment. He listened to the key turn in the lock, the door shut behind her. Then she turned on the lights, the window she had pointed to came to life. She strode to the window, waved back at him, and said, "Good night Cap. I hope you sleep well outside of your box."

"Coming over for breakfast in the morning?" he offered.

"If you're cooking, I'll be there."

"See you at seven."

He hung up the phone, watched her draw her curtains, turn out the lights. Exhaustion settled over him and he only kicked off his shoes before laying flat on the mattress. Reaching over, he turned out the lamp that provided all the dim light in the room and sighed. Alone, without a distraction, the past came back to him. He pulled his pillow over his head and closed his eyes tight, tried to shut off his brain. The empty feeling that had subsided in Sera's presence roared back into existence and it was almost too much to bear.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Relief hit him and he jumped from his bed, crossing the room to grab the receiver. "Hello?" he asked.

"Cap?" Sera's voice came through. "I left my number next to your phone. If you need anything, anything at all. Can't sleep, can't figure out how to work the television, whatever, just call me. Okay?"

The concern he heard in her voice then was reassuring. He said, "Okay." Sera was there for him, to help him. There had been times he had wondered if she really cared about what he had gone through. When she had left, as abruptly as she had, he assumed that other than duty she was done with him. She had gotten him out into the world, that had been her job, her task. He wondered if she had intended to write him off as fine. But that phone call, before the final good night, told him he wasn't going to be alone. With her help, he was certain he would be able to pull through, even if it was only for a little while, a distraction until he could move on.

Sera Rhett Aubrey, S.H.I.E.L.D's Deadeye Sniper, was his guardian angel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter****Two**

Steve stood outside of a closed room, listening to the shouting within. Sera had brought him back early the next morning, a look in her face that had said there was a problem and he shouldn't ask. She had led him back to the building he had started in the day before, to where his cold, sterile room waited for him.

He had lain awake most of the night until he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. But he hadn't called Sera. His own nostalgia ate at him until his eyes shuttered closed. He would have to deal with it sooner or later, with or without her help. She could only help so much.

When the arguing quieted, he heard the tones of a civil conversation, and then silence, and then the door opened. He looked over to where the sniper stepped out of the room followed by Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. "Right outside the door...?" Fury questioned.

"You want to put him in daycare like a child?" Sera shot back. Neither appeared amused, neither seemed kind enough for words to be playful.

"He's on your time," Fury told her, pointing an accusing finger.

"I like how you talk about him like he's not here!" Sera griped back. When he was gone down the hall, she looked to Steve and said, "Want to steal a jet?"

His jaw dropped. He could only stare at her. "A jet...?" he questioned.

"A plane...?" she clarified and then, brow raised, she added, "I'll fly. I don't need you landing us in the ice somewhere. I'm getting married next month, I would really rather not miss that." She stepped off down the hall with casual, bouncy steps.

"Next month?" Steve questioned.

"If he makes it back from Budapest," she grumbled.

"Budapest?"

"Left this morning," she informed him.

"So we're going to Budapest?"

She paused, glanced back to him with her brow raised. "No..." she said, drawing out the word. "We're going to Wyoming. Get you out of the city for a little while."

"Why Wyoming?" he asked, continuing to follow her as she turned and strode away.

"Because it'll piss off Fury if you leave state, and that's where my family is."

He sat as the copilot, watching, trying to understand the consoles in the cockpit. Everything had advanced, everything was much different. He didn't say much during the flight, but he remained in his own thoughts. Sera hadn't cleared their departure with Fury. She had walked Steve straight out the doors and into an unmarked black car. She drove them to a small, private airport and only waved to the ground crew before beckoning him inside of a small passenger plane. It was the strangest thing he had seen in a long time. Her actions reminded him of Howard Stark, but less charming.

She had only been given priority clearing from the tower, and then she was in the air. No flight plan, no approval. He wondered if she did this kind of thing often.

Staring out the windows, he was too easily reminded of his last flight. The ice. The cold. Sleep. Such a long sleep that he never wanted to endure again. He had gone through what would have killed any normal man. He knew that if the plane Sera flew were to go down in freezing temperatures the way his had, she would die, and he would wake years later with only a bittersweet memory of a yesterday long gone.

"Hey, Cap?" he heard and looked to her with wide eyes. Her voice had startled him. "I'll be setting it down here in about five minutes. So you know."

Her caution had been welcome, even if it was only to assure his comfort. Out the window, all he could see was green. In every direction, green. Rangeland grasses in every direction. As they came in for a landing, the sound of the plane startled a herd of wild horses and they thundered away, manes and tails billowing. He had never seen such a sight.

The landing was not perfect. It was rugged, bumpy. He could see a wooden fence in the distance and he gripped tight to anything he could hold and braced himself for impact. The plane safely came to a halt and after the engines shut down, he heard her say, "Ye of little faith..."

Quickly, she was leaving the plane, leaving him to follow with scrambled movements. When her feet touched the dirt of a homemade landing strip that he hadn't noticed before, she turned back to him and offered a hand to help him out of the plane. He was unsure of the gesture. Traditionally, a man offered to aid a woman, not the other way around.

"Sera Words! What in the name of the Lord do you think you're doing?" came a thundering shout that made Sera withdraw. From around the plane came a woman, slim of build with hair like fire that was tied up in a bun. She wore a pair of rugged and patched blue jeans and a jean shirt beneath a long apron covered in cooking stains.

Sera walked forward suddenly, arms outstretched. "Ma!" she said joyfully, but her mother didn't appear amused.

"I am gonna beat you, little girl, until you understand that when I say don't bring a plane in and stir up the livestock, that I'm not joking!" Her mother advanced on her, swatting her with a worn towel. Sera shielded her face, but only laughed.

"And what did you do to your beautiful hair?" her mother shrieked and grabbed the dark-colored tresses on her daughter's head.

"It's a weave!" Sera explained quickly.

"I am cutting this out tonight!"

"So are we staying for dinner?" Sera asked.

Her mother paused, asked, "We?" and it was only then that she noticed him standing there with surprise and amusement. She had the grace to blush. Then, with a rough hand, she grabbed her daughter and pulled her away, her intent to ask a question in private, but he could still hear her. "I thought you were engaged to Clint."

"I am?" Sera replied quizzically, as if she had no knowledge of what her mother spoke of.

"Sera Words!" her mother warned, "Don't you play dumb with me."

"Clint and I are fine," Sera assured her. "Steve is just a friend. And you are being very embarrassing and impolite, Ma."

The red-haired woman came back to him then as he stepped down from the plane. "I'm very sorry," she apologized to him. "I am not alway so rude. Abigail Words, pleased to meet you."

"Steve Rogers," he replied and then shook a hand that she offered him. The last name struck him. He had heard it three times already and yet it didn't make sense. The surname Words was not the one he had been given when he had first met Sera.

Her eyes narrowed upon him and then she rounded on her daughter again. "You didn't!" she exclaimed.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I confess," Sera said, her tone quickly changing, a dramatic flair as she spoke. "My reasons for bringing you here were... selfish."

"You're going to kill him!" her mother shouted and then stomped her way to a farmhouse of white walls and green accents.

Steve only looked back at the woman that had brought him to the countryside. He couldn't even begin to imagine what her selfish intentions were.

"My grandfather," she said softly, "he spoke of you often. He's old now. And..." Slowly, she shook her head as if thinking everything was now a terrible idea. "If you're not against it... I know he'd be happy to see you."

Steve watched her, could see her apprehension at her words, her hesitation. She wouldn't look at him, but kept her gaze down as she waited for his decision. If he refused, he knew she would take him back across the country without a second thought. But he knew he couldn't refuse. She was only asking. "What's his name?" he asked, and her attention snapped to his face, her mouth agape.

"Timothy Dugan," she replied quickly.

At her words, it was his turn to stare back at her with nothing but surprise.

The quiet, strong woman he had come to know under the roof of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s influence was now all smiles as they walked through the front door of the ranch house. She introduced him to her family. Her father was a tall, strong man of shoulder and back. A rugged working man. His calloused hand was a grip on his own that he wasn't expecting. "Daniel Words," he said as he shook his hand.

Sera's sister was blonde like their father, like Steve assumed Sera's hair was. Amber Words was a few years younger than her sister, but much more sociable. Sera quickly steered her away when it became obvious that Amber was flirting with him. He could feel the heat rise in his face and he could only laugh when Sera told her, "He's not here to see you. Go away."

Mrs. Words set a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Maybe we shouldn't do this..." she said.

"_We_," Sera emphasized, "aren't doing anything. Just gonna talk to grandpa."

"Half the time he doesn't remember any of us!" her mother pleaded.

"And when that happens," Sera replied strongly, "I'm Captain America and he's Timothy Dum Dum Dugan." She shook her head and proceeded down the hall. Steve didn't know where to go, so he followed her to a closed bedroom door.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly when they were alone, her hand upon the door knob. "I'm sure you don't want to be here. But he's not getting any younger. And half the time, when he does remember me, all we ever talked about was the past. Honestly, if he decides to go in his sleep after talking with you, I couldn't be happier."

Again, she wouldn't look at him. All smiles were gone and every serious sign of sadness was present upon her face. His old friend from the war was a dear figure in her life. In his mind, it was only days ago that he had left his true life behind and awoken in the future, his memories still so clear of his past.

Opening the door, she stepped inside. An elderly man sat at a large window, staring out at the cattle grazing on the other side of a fence. Upon his lap sat an old bowler hat, faded and worn with years of use. "What do you want?" he grumbled, not turning his attention from the window, not directly addressing whoever had walked into his room.

"You have a visitor," Sera replied.

"Sera," the old man breathed, his tone changing at the sound of his granddaughter's voice. "I'm very tired. I'd like to be alone right now."

Leaning heavily on the doorframe, she said, "It's Captain America, Gramps."

"I have my mind today Sera," he chuckled.

"Hello, Tim," Steve said and the man became very still, his pale blue eyes wide and his jaw slack.

"You're alive?" the old man croaked, turning in his seat, squinting to try to see better.

"Told you I'd try to find out what happened to him," Sera told her grandfather as she stepped into the room with Steve and closed the door behind him. "Can't say I expected what I got."

The elderly war veteran began to rise to his feet, Sera bolted across the room to help support him, but he swatted her away. She stepped back, watching his every movement, ready to catch him if he were to fall. Standing, he brought his hand up, saluted Steve.

"At ease," Steve said. "Take a seat, Tim. We've got a lot to catch up on."

"Sera?" the elderly man said and Sera snapped to attention. "Get us something to drink, would you?"

"I'm not bringing back beer, Old Man," she grumbled.

Timothy laughed, a sound that echoed back to younger days. "Tea's fine," he told her, and immediately she was gone. To Steve, he said, "If someone ever tells you to have a family because it's the thing to do. Call them a liar. The only reason to have a family is that they take care of you when you're old." He laughed. Steve couldn't help but smile and then he watched with all the attentiveness Sera had given as he shakily lowered himself back into his chair by the window.

Hesitantly, Steve moved to a wicker chair across his old friend, a small table, an old game of chess upon it, between them. "Trying to keep sharp?" Steve asked, indicating the game.

"When Sera comes home to visit, we play a little bit," Timothy said and then stared at the man across the table from him. "You looks exactly the same as when I last saw you."

"Somehow I was frozen in time," he replied, "in the ice I set the plane down in."

"Lucky you," was the response. "You should figure out how you did it and sell it as an anti-aging remedy that all these women are crazy about these days."

"These days," Steve sighed, "I don't even know what's going on these days."

"Think it would have been more humane for them to leave you on ice?"

"Maybe."

"Stick with Sera, she'll take care of you."

"Did I hear my name?" Sera asked as she came back into the room, a silver tray in her hands. She set one glass of tea before Steve, the other before her grandfather, and then began to clear the chessboard between them to set a plate of sandwiches.

"I was winning that game!" her grandfather scoffed as she removed the pieces from the board. and enclosed them within it.

"Of course you were," she told him blandly and the old man chuckled.

When she went to leave, her grandfather asked, "Where do you think you're going?"

"Out there?" Sera questioned, confused. "You didn't tell me I could stay."

"Such a good kid," Timothy told the man across from him. Then he said to his granddaughter, "You can stay," and her face lit up.

Again, Steve was surprised at the change in her. She kicked off her boots and sat upon the bed with her legs drawn up to her, the way a child would sit, ready for a story.

"What were we talking about?" Timothy asked.

"Trapped in ice," Steve reminded him.

"Right," the old man said and looked between Sera and Steve. "You two look almost the same age, now. Eerie."

Sera stood up."I can see where this is going, Grandpa," she grumbled and stalked towards the door, disappearing from the room and closing it behind him.

"What just happened?" Steve questioned, confused at Sera's sudden departure.

"You get some leeway to say embarrassing things when you're old," Timothy told him, "Everyone always assumes it's because I'm old and I don't know what I'm saying. I'm not always so far gone." Grinning, he added, "She really is a good girl. A bit crazy, but that's just hereditary." Heaving a heavy sigh, his brows drew together and a saddened expression fell upon his face. "If it weren't for my stupid war stories when she was younger, she wouldn't have followed in my footsteps."

"She seems capable of taking care of herself," Steve assured him. "She flew us over here."

"I thought I told her no more flying," he grumbled. With a slight shake of his head, he said, "Wars aren't fought how they used to be."

"With Hydra's advanced weaponry?" Steve asked with a smile.

"I'm not talking about the one _we_ fought," he replied, "Women on the battlefield."

"They say it's always much worse when your own go out to fight," Steve told him.

"I love my daughter," Timothy said, "but Sera is the joy of my life. She told me before she joined the marines that she would find out what happened to Captain America. And here you are, several years later."

"Determination," Steve observed.

"Stubborn, pigheadedness," Timothy corrected.

"It's hereditary."

The old man laughed. "She can do anything," he said more solemnly. "And that's why I worry about her. No one can tell her no, and even if they do, she doesn't listen. She's getting married to Clint Barton next month and he's a good man, he really is. I don't think I've ever seen her connect with someone like that before." He smiled. "She's usually too opinionated to agree with anyone for any length of time."

Steve grinned. In the future, he knew how to talk to her. Knowing she had a similar personality to her grandfather, had a close relationship with him, he was certain that he and Sera would get along famously. There was still, however, that side of Sera he was positive didn't come from her family. The boogeyman. The one that scared others.

"So how have you been since becoming a person again instead of a popsicle?" Timothy asked, catching him off guard.

"I think I'd rather be old like you," Steve said honestly. "That way I'd have some idea of what had happened all these years."

"It doesn't help," Timothy said. "I lived it and the only thing that makes sense is the food."

"I've tried some of it," Steve replied, "At least I can still count on a good hamburger."

He stayed with his old comrade-in-arms for hours, Sera checked on them to bring food or drinks, but overall left them alone. They talked of old times, of lost loves, of family. They talked about the rest of the war that he had left behind.

Tired of sitting. Timothy left his chair and grabbed his walker. He placed his bowler hat upon his head and shuffled to the door. It was difficult watching his old friend struggling to do things that came so easily before.

In the house, Mrs. Words was preparing dinner while her younger daughter sat in front of the television. At their entrance to the main part of the house, Mrs. Words called them over. "Dinner will be ready soon," she said as Amber shut off the screen before her and jumped to her feet, smiling at Steve like a young schoolgirl.

"It's that late already?" Timothy questioned.

Glancing about, Steve asked, "Sera?"

"She's out with her father," Abigail said and pointed out the front door.

"Go on," Timothy told his friend, "I'll sit right here and watch something stupid on television."

"I'll show you!" Amber said excitedly and grabbed Steve's hand, pulling him from the house. Hand in hand, they ran through the front gate of the property and in the distance, a large corral appeared, full of cattle. Inside, a singular horse raced about. Bodies, spectators, sat upon the fencing, watching.

Amber released him when they were close enough to see the action and she climbed up the fence to watch. He kept his feet on the ground, looked through the boards to the rider that roped calves and dragged them to a waiting pair of men that held it down and placed a brand on its upper back leg. The movement was clockwork, one calf after another.

A man on the fence shouted, "Come on Sera! You can rope a little faster. Are you rusty?"

Steve looked at him, watched the man laugh. Then he couldn't help but smile as a large loop of rope came about his body, tightened, and then the horse pulled him from the fence, flat onto his face into a cowpie.

"Sera!" her father warned as she flicked the line loose and recoiled it.

"He's fine," she replied coldly. The horse beneath her spun suddenly and she roped the leg of a cow that was frantically trying to escape, rushing toward the man in the dirt. As the cowboy rose to his feet, wiping his face and then dusting himself off, Sera released the cow and turned her attention to another calf. The other men on the fence laughed again, this time at one of their own.

"You have always been a real pain in the ass!" the dirtied cowboy shouted over his shoulder as he climbed back on the fence.

"Watch your mouth, Michael," Mr. Words said, "that's my daughter you're talking about."

The gathered cowboys were silent until the job was done, until Sera's horse, a stocky bay with a great length of mane and tail, pushed the cattle out of the pen. Climbing down to stand beside Steve, Amber said, "Papa always waits for Sera to come home for a visit before doing anything important."

"Because she's better than the others?" Steve asked.

"Well..." Amber said and shrugged, "she was raised doing this. But I think it's because Papa doesn't want to deal with having to pay some of these dumb boys for a half-assed job when Sera can do it free of charge and actually do it right." Crossing her arms, she muttered, "Doesn't take a genius to rope an' ride, though."

"If you two are done chitchatting..." came a voice from the other side of the fence and they looked up to see Sera looking back at them from atop a horse, a hat pull low over her brow.

"Hey, Snowy River," her sister told her, "Why don't you go put up that nag and wash up for dinner."

"Call my horse a nag one more time," Sera warned, "and he'll be dragging you through muck like he did to Mikey."

"You wouldn't dare!" Amber shouted.

"Try it, little sister," Sera warned.

"You get that nag anywhere near me and I'll-" She didn't get to finish her sentence. The horse was off, running out of the pen and cutting around back toward them. Amber screamed, began running.

Sera pulled the horse up beside her sister, reached down, plucked her from the ground and across her lap. He could hear Amber screaming and hollering from where he stood by the pen.

"You a friend of Sera's?" he heard and turned to the cowboys that still sat upon the fence like spectators to life.

"Work friend," he replied.

"I thought she was marrying a work friend," said Michael, still trying to wipe his face clean. "You _that_ work friend?"

"No," he told them.

"So the first person she brings home ain't even the guy she's gonna marry?"

Mr. Words interrupted finally with, "You boys sure are nosey. I could ask you why all this time none of you lot have brought a lady to meet your parents. And I mean a _lady_." He looked between the quiet men and said, "That's right, I heard about that incident, Randy Thomas... Now you boys get home and go do nothing on your own land."

"Aw, Mr. Words!" they laughed and began to depart.

"Mr. Rogers?" Daniel Words said and beckoned him to walk toward the house with him.

"Can I ask... Has Sera not brought Clint home to visit?" Steve asked.

"They're here all the time when they're not out... doing whatever they do for work," he replied, "We just don't announce it."

"Sera does seem to enjoy her privacy," Steve said.

"More than ever before," her father told him. "Ever since she got back from the Middle East. But I suppose that's expected from an active duty soldier."

Walking up to the house, they found Sera standing at the head of her horse, her sister nearby with a worried expression upon her face. Their mother stood on the porch, waiting for her husband. Beside her was Timothy, leaning heavily on his walker.

"Already?" her father asked.

"Yeah," Sera told him.

"You can't stay for dinner?"

Sera shrugged, "I think we can swing it." Taking her horse's reins in her hand, she looked to Steve and said, "Wanna give me a hand?"

He followed her to the barn and didn't ask, "Are we leaving?" until she began to pull the saddle from the horse's back.

"Fury called," she said with a smile, "He's not happy that you're in Wyoming. Ordinarily, I wouldn't go back because of that, but I was called to suit up for Budapest." Brushing the animal's damp hair, she added, "I'm going to drop you off at the gym. Call Charlie if you need anything. He'll be your best friend. I recommend not going anywhere near Fury or he'll try to be an overbearing parent again."

He took in her words, watched her lead the horse to a stall and walk it inside. It was obvious to see that she cared for the animal as she spoke softly to it like an old friend. Then she slipped the bridle over its ears, the bit from its mouth, and she closed the stall door as she exited.

As he sat down to dinner that evening with the Words family, across from a friend from his past and beside a friend from his future, he enjoyed a rare moment of peace. Nostalgia still ate at him, reminded him with a sickening pang that he was a man beyond his time, but again he was reminded that there was comfort to be found in his future. Even if it was in strange moments like dinner with strangers in a place so far from the home he had grown up in.

The city had been overwhelming, but the country had taken his moments of anxiety. He dreaded his return to the place of skyscrapers and noise. Sera wouldn't be there to protect him this time.

11


End file.
